


Bughead Drabbles

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Series: Bughead Stories [25]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Bughead Drabbles, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Friendship, Rating May Change, Romance, Southside Serpent Betty Cooper, Southside Serpent Jughead Jones, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: A collection of the Bughead-centric drabbles I've previously posted on my Tumblr (forasecondtherewedwon), each based on one or multiple prompts, as requested by my followers. If I don't start wrangling these things, I'm going to lose track of them.





	1. Driving in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From "The Way You Said 'I Love You'" tag, prompt 20: As we huddle together, the storm raging outside.

“I can’t believe _this_ was the weekend my parents picked to go visit Polly,” Betty moaned. With her eyes closed, she could avoid looking at the rain, but she couldn’t stop herself from hearing it accelerate from a march to a jog against the roof.

“So their visit gets extended an extra night, no big deal,” Jughead responded nonchalantly. He might not have been such a big fan of storms himself―in his typical state of profound moroseness, they made him feel like Mother Nature was being a tad heavy-handed with the pathetic fallacy―but Betty was already worried enough for the both of them.

“Unless they decide to risk it and drive… in this.” She swept her hand towards her window like she was backhanding a fly from the humid air.

“Do you think they would? Your mom?”

“No, she’s smarter than that.”

“Your dad?”

“No,” Betty repeated with a short laugh, “my mom wouldn’t let him.”

“Then that settles it. Everything is fine. The best thing for you to do is just hunker down and wait this out.” Jughead shrugged and began to retreat, figuring he’d leave her to watch a fluffy movie. She looked at him with sometime less than alarm yet more than casual interest.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Too much talk about your mother.” He smirked. “I’m starting to feel guilty for loitering in her daughter’s bedroom after sundown.”

“You could hang around… just for a little while. If you wanted?” She tried to keep her look light, inviting, tentative, but as soon as the suggestion left her lips, the power dynamic shifted. Betty couldn’t help it. What was she supposed to do? Encourage him out into the storm?

“Well, if you’re gonna twist my arm like that…” Jughead shot her a smile.

For a while, they just chatted like normal, sitting on the end of her bed with their legs pressing together every time they adjusted their posture. Jughead didn’t know what was making him so shy; whenever Betty’s hand began to sneak towards his, his insides sparkled and crackled like cheap holiday fireworks. Then the thunder started, quieting them with its primordial rumble.

“I’m going to turn some more lights on,” Betty volunteered, reaching for her lamp though they already sat in the artificial midnight sun of her overhead light. It wasn’t that the dimming sky made her nervous (a highly practical mother had ensured she’d never been afraid of the dark), but she felt that there was something coming she was going to have to face, and it was sending her into survival mode.

Before she could click the lamp on, the power went out.

“Ok, ok, this is fine,” she said aloud into the darkness. Jughead’s hand landed on her back and she jumped like his palm was a defibrillator paddle.

“I know it is,” he laughed. “There’s no one I feel, um…” Betty had turned her face towards his and he was caught off guard when a lightning strike lit her eyes up the green of key lime pie. “… safer with,” he concluded, feeling out of breath for a reason logic couldn’t account for.

“Right, safe. I have matches and candles and…”

“I’m actually all set,” he assured her, gaze pausing for long seconds on each of the soft features of her face.

Betty still seemed a little skittish to Jughead, so he stretched back to drag her comforter forward, flipping it inside out to cocoon them where they sat. He kicked his sneakers off and pulled his legs up onto the bed. She relented, sagging into him like an electronic doll with a dying battery. Thunder boomed again and Jughead slipped his arm around her back.

“Sounds like the world’s flying apart out there,” she whispered. In the seconds after the thunder, her room seemed as muffled as the inside of a cotton ball.

“Definitely not a night you’d want to be out in.” They could both hear that he was making idle chitchat―not very Jughead of him.

“Well I, I,” she stumbled―not very Betty of _her_ ―finding that her chin was lifting, drawing her face closer to his, “don’t have anywhere to be.” She watched his tongue slick his bottom lip. “I have to tell you something,” she sighed out, knowing that the time was now.

Thunder made them both jolt this time, and now Jughead found he had both arms around her, his face inches from hers. To hear her better? Probably not, though she was speaking quite softly for a girl he knew to be a bold, demanding force of nature when she needed to be.

“I love you,” Betty confessed, squeezing Jughead’s hand and getting some of the blanket in her grip too.

“I love you, too,” he said, barely getting it out before his mouth was more engaged with kissing her. When lightning flashed, it was like a pure, white sun behind his eyelids. They pulled back from each other, still holding hands. “Boy,” Jughead commented, “you must have really been scared. You know, I would’ve stayed for a Pop-Tart or something.”

“How ‘bout a hot chocolate?” Betty offered with a smile, pulling her side of the comforter up with her as she stood.

“Downstairs?”

“Think we can manage it?”

“I’ll grab the matches.”


	2. Stuck Here With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 85: “It’s not what it looks like.”

Betty was committing murder with one bite of her lip―killing him with suspense.

“Well?”

Jughead watched her look herself over (again) the way he’d been doing for the past five minutes, the two of them standing in the living room of his father’s trailer. She was wearing his Serpents jacket after they’d mutually decided that she should try it on to help her better envisage joining the gang. Betty was a very visual person, as previously evidenced by their joint murder boards, so he was really (desperately) hoping that seeing herself in Serpent attire would finally convince her to agree and become his queen. She glanced up at him, mouth curving up and then down again as she surpassed the limits of her regular smile and entered goofily-pleased smile territory. From those rollercoaster lips came, “I love it.”

“Point me at a whale and call me Ishmael, thank god,” he sighed. “You’re finally on board. Right?”

“Right,” she instantly agreed, grinning and flinging herself forward. His arms weren’t ready, but Jughead managed not to fall over, getting his hands on Betty’s hips so she could keep him upright. “And people don’t say that, Jug,” she whispered into his neck.

“Sure they do,” he argued, squeezing a fistful of leather as he held her close. “You’ve just never been to Nantucket.”

She stepped back and kept silent, letting him have this one.

“Any thoughts on the colour?” Jughead asked, running his hands down her sleeves. Betty laughed.

“I don’t want to risk incurring Cheryl’s wrath when she discovers she isn’t the only one with a bespoke Serpent jacket. Besides,” Betty reached back casually, flipping the ends of her hair out of the collar, “I want my jacket to look like yours.”

Jughead glanced swiftly off to the side, smiling shyly.

“We can―we can definitely do that.”

“Alright then.” She leaned into him, giving his ribs a playful nudge with her elbow. When he met Betty’s eyes, her fingers went to the zipper of the jacket. “How soon do you―” She stopped. So had the zipper. Jughead frowned.

“Here, let me see…” She let go and he got his fingers on the zipper. He wiggled it, finding it would go up, but not down. “Hold the sides tight,” he instructed, then gave the zipper a hard downwards yank. It stopped abruptly, like a bumper car collision. “Shit,” he mumbled.

“It’s fine,” Betty insisted, switching his fingers out for hers. “It’s not broken, just stuck.” She grasped the zipper and Jughead wouldn’t have known she was trying to do anything at all if he hadn’t seen the look of frustration on his girlfriend’s face―the zipper didn’t budge. “Now it won’t go up _or_ down,” she conceded. He wrinkled his nose, stepping back to consider the situation.

“Can you pull it off over your head?”

“Good idea,” she gratefully acknowledged, twisting and shuffling her arms up the sleeves. He smiled at her progress until that progress ended. “I’m stuck,” Betty admitted, elbows prodding the leather from the inside.

“Come on,” Jughead coached with a smirk, “I’ll hold the bottom and you wriggle out.”

Unfortunately, his hands gripping the lower edge of the jacket made Betty burst into laughter over and over when she raised her arms and his fingers rubbed over her ticklish sides.

“It’s no good,” she giggled out. “Stop before I pee my pants.”

“At least you’re not wearing _my_ pants,” he selfishly offered, grinning at her.

“I think your jacket is trouble enough.” She exhaled in a gust, frowning but still shaking with lingering laughter. “Help, Juggy,” she implored.

“Now you really know what being in the gang is like. A Serpent never sheds its skin.”

Betty swung a sleeve at him, hitting his chest with a muffled _smack_.

“Joke later, rescue now,” she suggested.

“Alright, alright. Get your arms back in the sleeves, I’m going to try something.”

With Betty’s arms out of the way, Jughead was able to sneak one of his down through the top of the jacket and the other up from the bottom. He felt around for the bunched material that had to be halting the zipper.

“Do you feel it?” Betty asked. He could tell she was trying to hold very still.

“What the hell is going on in here?” F.P. shouted boisterously, stepping through the front door with a huge smile on his face. Jughead glanced at him with serious eyes.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

F.P. advanced into the room, waving a questioning finger over them like he was casting a spell.

“Which part?”

“Oh,” said Jughead, quickly extracting his hands from the inside of the jacket his girlfriend was still wearing.

“I’m stuck,” Betty explained as Jughead, irritated, watched his father continue to grin at him. “It’s my fault, I was careless with the zip―”

“His jacket, his fault,” F.P. countered, jabbing Jughead in the chest with his finger. He looked at his son’s expression and started laughing. “You should’ve seen the look on your face when I walked in.” He sighed to exorcise the last of his chuckling. “I’m going to have a shower.”

“Thanks for your help,” Jughead said sarcastically to his father’s back. F.P. rotated back to them, ready to be beneficent, Jughead assumed.

“Boy, this is an easy one to fix. You,” he nodded at Betty, “arms straight up. You,” a nod for Jughead, “pull up from the shoulders. Either have her sit down or you get up and stand on the couch. Get some leverage.”

Betty and Jughead looked at each other. Betty shrugged and sank to the ground, cross-legged.

“Has this happened to you before?” Jughead asked his dad, briefly clasping his new queen’s upraised hands.

“Course not,” F.P. said with a grin. “‘Cause I’m not an idiot. No offense, Betty,” he clarified, angling his gaze down to the only other Serpent in the room. “His jacket, his fault.”

Jughead rolled his eyes, hard, as his father left the room.

“I’m waiting,” Betty reminded him, letting go of his hand to grab his thigh. Jughead jumped.

“Jeeze, you appoint a girl royalty and she just gets so demanding,” he baited. Betty scoffed.

“Just you wait, Jughead Jones. Once I’m out of this jacket…” Her threat trailed off as he began pulling it up from the shoulders as he’d been told.

Betty didn’t know she was saying all the right things. Banter, mishaps, moments like these, this was exactly what he’d been waiting for.


	3. Ready, Set, Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 84: “I can’t believe you talked me into this.” and prompt 97: “You’re so cute when you pout like that.”
> 
> Bughead with a side of Falice.

It was so easy for Betty to be happy with Jughead. Milkshakes at Pop’s, aimless drives around Riverdale on the back of his motorcycle, and a repeat trip to the Five Seasons were little milestones that had her falling deeper in love as spring swung into summer. Their relationship felt stable and just… real, in the way she could tell they’d both been hoping for. The only place she couldn’t hold onto that dream-come-true feeling was at home.

At the _Register_ office, Alice was as formidable as always, making ruthless edits and hounding local businesses to fill the paper’s ad space. Betty knew because she’d been helping out after school. Officially, she was broadening her journalism knowledge. Unofficially, she was keeping an eye on her mom, which she knew was necessary because, as soon as Alice walked through the door of the home that now housed just the two of them, she was a different person, practically a stranger.

She didn’t glance over Betty’s shoulder when she did homework in the kitchen. She bought Pop’s hamburgers for dinner at least three nights a week and never baked pies like she used to. She was tired, she was quiet, she talked about visiting Polly and the twins but never planned the trip. When Betty went downstairs one night and found Alice lying on the couch listlessly, wearing a Snuggie and watching _Sleepless in Seattle_ , she knew it was time to take action.

With Jughead―her constant, her partner in crime―she planned a date night. Not for them. For their parents.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Alice complained as Betty paraded out of her mother’s walk-in closet, arms heaped over with the sleek pencil-skirted dresses and silky blouses that had somehow become buried since her father’s arrest and her mother’s slump into loneliness.

“You’re so cute when you pout like that,” Betty joked as she laid out outfit options on Alice’s bed, gripping her underlying concern by the throat. It wasn’t normal for her to play the parent to Alice’s broody, reluctant teenager, but it had to be done to maintain whatever morale they had left.

“Thoughts?” she asked, directing her mother’s gaze to the assortment of clothing with a sweep of her hand. Alice groaned.

“If I’m really not getting out of this… just something black. I don’t want F.P. to think I’m actually excited to go on a date with him.”

“Got it,” Betty said, nodding steadily as she weeded out any colour livelier than charcoal grey. “Playing it cool. Hard to get.”

Alice snorted.

“Technically, he’s already gotten all there is to get―”

“SHH!” Betty hissed, alarmed. “Just, um, pick something out. I’ll be right back.”

Her mother sighed, but had begun to rifle through her clothing by the time Betty glanced back at her from the doorway. She texted Jughead to make sure things were on schedule with his dad. From her boyfriend’s report, F.P. was definitely more eager for the date than her mom was. All it had taken to get him past the lingering weirdness between the adults was to hear that Alice had agreed. Jughead’s text saying that his father had even shaved for the occasion made Betty smile and sent her back into her mother’s bedroom with her energy renewed.

“Wow,” she said, stopping dead and leaning against Alice’s dresser.

“Nothing went together, so I decided on a dress,” her mother explained brusquely, downplaying how amazing she looked. Betty smiled indulgently.

“Well, put on some lipstick,” she instructed. “Something worthy of an ex-Serpent.”

“Me or him?”

Betty paused.

“Either. Both.” Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she whipped it free. “Jughead says they’re heading over now. Let me find you some shoes.”

Within ten minutes, Alice was fully dressed, made-up, and fidgeting in the foyer. Betty had given up on trying to calm her since her mother kept arguing that she wasn’t nervous, but incredibly annoyed at even the thought of seeing the man who was on his way to take her out. They both jumped when the doorbell rang. Betty gestured her mom towards the door excitedly, clasping her hands together to keep from diving forward herself and flinging it open.

Alice managed it on her own, breathing hard just once before she opened the door.

“Hey, Alice,” F.P. said with a half-smile from their doorstep. Not only had he shaved, but― “These are for you,” he said, offering up a bouquet of pale pink dahlias.

Alice reached out for them while Betty held her breath, hoping that her mother wasn’t going to claim an allergy the way she had the last time she’d received flowers. No, she was holding them to her face instead, smelling.

“They’re lovely,” she complimented. From behind her, Betty saw F.P.’s smile grow. “Here,” Alice said, turning and handing off her gift to Betty, “put these in water, honey.” Betty nodded, quickly squeezing her mother’s hand.

“I don’t suppose you want to take the bi―” F.P. began, pointing at one of two motorcycles parked in the Cooper driveway.

“I’m driving,” Alice interrupted, snatching up her car keys and flipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder. F.P. held up his hands harmlessly as she pushed past him.

“Wish me luck,” he requested of Betty before following after her mother.

Finally, Jughead was in Betty’s sight, stepping up from the stoop as Alice started her car and backed out. He put an arm around Betty’s waist and they waved from the warm light of the doorway as their parents drove off down the street on their first date.

“They’re going to kill each other, aren’t they?” Betty wondered aloud, leaning her head on Jughead’s shoulder.

“They’ll warm up to it,” he calmly replied. “They’re kind of meant for each other.”

Betty laughed.

“And what would you know about that?”

Jughead smiled at her, kissed her cheek, and pulled her inside.


	4. See Betty Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 25: “When you love someone, you don’t just stop. Ever. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy… even then. Especially then!”

“Here,” Veronica offered, stepping fearlessly into Betty’s franticness and extending a hand to take her plate, “I’ll hold your cake.”

“My cue cards!” Betty exclaimed as she rose from the couch.

“Back left pocket of your jeans,” Jughead reminded her with a patient smile.

Betty sighed and extracted them. She’d memorized her short speech weeks ago and had, truthfully, been writing it since Polly had told her she’d had the twins, but there was a comfort in having a copy in her hands just in case. Godmother duties were something Betty took very seriously and the address she gave on the occasion of the children’s first birthday would set the tone for every birthday to come.

Glancing around, she caught her sister’s eye, sitting on the floor with Juniper tucked into the crook of her arm and Dagwood spilling out of her lap, eyes on the prize that was Vegas’s tail. (Of course the Andrews were invited to this important event, and from the first interaction between the babies and Vegas, a bond had been formed, meaning he too received an invitation.) Polly smiled serenely at her, probably telling her telepathically to take her time. Betty inhaled slowly and put a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder as she started to step around him to address the group. Jughead caught her wrist and beckoned her close with a finger.

“Don’t say anything about me,” he whispered as she leaned forward.

“Why would I?” she asked innocently. “This is for the babies, Jug.”

Right on cue, Dagwood let out a squawk and Betty heard Vegas’s toenails skittering around on the floor. She had to press on before the distraction spread and no one wanted to sit still for a speech. Giving Jughead a _you’re crazy_ look, she stood and walked over to position herself next to Polly.

“Visual aid?” her sister offered, hefting a delighted Juniper, who kicked white-socked feet as she rose into the air.

Betty glanced at her cards and immediately discarded them, letting them flutter to the floor as her niece looked on in wonder. Being Godmother was all about helping out, and she knew that Polly probably wanted to keep an eye on the adventurous Dagwood. Bending at the knees, she lifted Juniper into her arms.

“Happy Birthday, baby,” Betty muttered into the little girl’s fine, pale hair. “I’m going to talk about you and your brother now, ok?”

Juniper locked round eyes on her and didn’t offer any objections so Betty turned, slightly anxiously, to the small assemblage of friends and family.

“Hi, everybody,” she began with a too-wide smile. “Speaking on behalf of my family, we’re, um, feeling so lucky today to have so many warm, caring people in our lives who have also become part of the babies’ lives.”

From the couch opposite the one she’d been in the middle of, Betty watched Cheryl sit up straighter and toss her hair smugly over her shoulder. Knowing that her cousin’s pride was connected to the littlest Cooper-Blossoms filled Betty with gratitude.

“It was Shakespeare who posed the question ‘Did my heart love ‘til now,’” Betty continued, “and even if that does come from _Romeo and Juliet_ , which doesn’t have the happiest ending,” she babbled, “I think it expresses how we all felt the first time we met Juniper and Dagwood.”

Veronica gave her an encouraging nod, linking hands with Archie, who sat perched on the arm of the sofa.

“Speaking for myself,” she went on, “I loved them right away. I loved the first time Juniper grabbed my hand and the first time Dagwood smiled.” Betty was smiling _now_ thinking about it. “I love taking them for walks or just sitting with them right here, in this room, knowing I’m going to be amazed by whatever they do next.”

She wasn’t sure when her mother had started crying into her smile, but Alice was definitely doing that now, whipping tissues from a Kleenex box Toni had passed hand-to-hand from the other end of the room.

“I love Dag and Juni just as much when they refuse to eat on time, or pee as soon as Polly passes them to me.” This got a big laugh. F.P., eyes practically sparkling, stretched his arm along the back of the couch, bumping Cheryl’s head. “And it’s rare,” Betty said when the chuckles died down. She turned to gaze at Jughead. “It’s so rare to find someone you can love so easily and receive that same love back.”

Her boyfriend tilted his chin warningly at her, but it was too late―Archie leaned over and slapped his shoulder, understanding that it wasn’t just the twins those words were dedicated to.

“The best thing about it is knowing it’s forever,” she avowed, pressing her cheek to the top of Juniper’s head and keeping her eyes on Jughead’s, making a cute face at him. “When you love someone, you don’t just stop. Ever.” He rolled his eyes and Betty had to hold in a laugh, blowing Juniper’s hair around with a gust from her nose. “Even when people roll their eyes,” she insisted, “or call you crazy… even then. Especially then!”

“Has Juniper been doing that a lot lately, Betty?” Fred called out with a grin. “Calling you crazy?” F.P. shushed him.

“She’s sticking with ‘mama’ so far,” Polly contributed, wrangling Dagwood back into her lap for the third time, where he promptly flipped over and started trying to escape again.

“Ah, very Spanish,” Veronica chirped. “I approve!”

“Go on, Betty,” Fred urged, miming zipping his mouth shut.

“We’re so lucky to have these two in our lives,” Betty said, picking up where she’d left off and getting back on track after the not-so-subtle teasing. “They’re already growing into such smart, generous human beings, making their mother proud, and their father too, I’m sure.” Now the Kleenex box made its round back to a teary-eyed Cheryl. “Here’s to Dagwood and Juniper,” Betty concluded, “on their first birthday, from all of us who love them dearly!”

As their little gathering launched into an encore of “Happy Birthday,” Alice shuttled back and forth from the kitchen, handing out second helpings of an enormous yellow cake. Jughead skipped the complicated route of people’s stretched out legs and exited backwards, hurtling over the back of the couch to come to her. With Polly distracted between them by a quiet, sentimental exchange with Cheryl, Dagwood wriggled out into Jughead’s path. Having regained the proficiency at corralling babies which he claimed to have developed with his younger sister, he scooped Dagwood up. Finally, standing together, Betty and Jughead negotiated their respective wards onto their hips so that they could lean in and kiss.

“You said the speech wasn’t going to be about me,” he accused with an indulgent smirk. Betty just smiled and swayed her niece in her arms.


	5. Lunch with the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 24: “Are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

Jughead had sat in the same booth at Pop’s so many times. Alone, when he was thinking, writing, or drinking hot black coffee. With Archie. With Betty. With Toni. But never before with Betty _and_ the Serpents―his Serpents.

Word had circulated about Veronica’s plans to turn Pop’s into an even more welcoming place than it was now, a hangout where disenfranchised Serpents could feel just as comfortable as they had on home turf. Jughead hadn’t really thought it was possible when Veronica had explained her idea to him in detail. After jumping on the ‘Fred for Mayor’ bandwagon too late to make a difference, then bragging groundlessly about some casino she was going to get built, the speakeasy sounded like the grand finale in her trio of failed campaigns. You could only listen to a girl cry “gentrification” so many times before you quit believing her.

And yet. Before the speakeasy portion had even opened, the Serpents were slithering to the diner, providing Pop Tate with more butts in seats than he’d had in years. Between the owner, the staff, and the new patrons, it was a three-way win, with the original diner-goers getting used to the gang members over time. Without location to divide them, everyone was learning that the formerly North- and Southsiders weren’t so different.

A big thing that helped to bridge the gap within the gang was Jughead’s selection of Serpent Queen. In the past, there had been no greater symbol of the Northside than Betty Cooper, a naïve, blonde cheerleader from a comfortable home, love-struck by wholesome, town golden boy Archie Andrews. Now Betty was a badass sleuth with a psycho fake brother on the run, a dad in jail, a gang membership, and a jacket to prove it. And him, Jughead figured. She had him too.

Jughead let go of Betty’s thigh, where he’d been holding it for the past half hour, and pushed out of the booth, breaking up their gathering. It had been informal, young Serpents only, to brainstorm some loose yet practical plans for the future.

He slapped Fangs’s shoulder then leaned over and kissed Betty, gripping her confidently by the chin. What could they say to him now? He was King! As he drew back, however, the one person who had the right and the influence to detain him grabbed hold of his sleeve.

“Are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?” Betty queried.

He sighed deeply, shifting in place. She could have been referring to anything they’d just discussed, how she was handling it, what opinions she hadn’t had a chance to share. She might even have had the same thought he had, about asking her if he could stay at her place, the way she’d once stayed at his. But no, Jughead eyed her carefully. He knew what Betty was after.

“Are you going to finish your fries?” he asked, already reaching a hand towards her plate.

“Yes, I am,” she said with a grin, sliding the plate away and tossing a ketchup-drizzled fry into her mouth.

Sweet Pea banged a fist on the table, as he was wont to do, while the rest of the gang burst into laughter.

“Good choice, Jughead,” Toni complimented from the next booth, arm slung around Cheryl. “This girl was meant to be a Serpent.”


	6. Mr. Jones Goes to Washington

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 3: “I’m not jealous.”; prompt 36: “Did I say that out loud?”; prompt 41: “Have you lost your fucking mind?”; and prompt 54: “I’m not good enough for you.”

Jughead rubbed his face hard into his pillow, but sleep had left him behind and was not coming back for him. Without looking up, he stretched out a limp arm, lethargic fingers sliding over his phone screen on the bedside table. He slid it to the edge, got a grip on it, and lifted it, turning his head to the side and squinting at the bright screen. 8:32 a.m. A new email. Jughead gave it a quick scan. His tired face crumpled in confusion.

“I… won,” he mumbled.

Betty, not typically a light sleeper, but highly attuned to his every noise and movement, rolled over next to him. Jughead reached back and felt for her hip, which encouraged her to press into his back, leaning over to see his phone.

“Did I say that out loud?” he asked, incredulous at himself. “I never win anything. This might be a first.”

“You deserve it, Juggy,” Betty replied graciously, rubbing her mouth across his ear.

“I―”

Waking up more by the second, it occurred to Jughead to wonder if he _did_ deserve it. ‘It’ was a summer writers’ workshop, hosted by a journalist born in their county who’d gone on to become a big deal correspondent in Washington D.C., where the three-week workshop would be held. Such an opportunity was a big deal for their area, open to students ages 16-18, and only accepting 12 applicants into the program. One of those applicants was Jughead. Another had been Betty. They both knew she hadn’t earned a place as Jughead’s email contained a full list of the dozen selectees.

“It should’ve been you,” he realized, twisting around to look into his girlfriend’s calm green eyes. “You’ve spearheaded the revival of the _Blue and Gold_. You’re a bloodhound for investigation―”

“This is your passion, Jug,” Betty cut him off. “I’m not jealous.” Jughead stared hard at her, moving onto his back and pulling her down flat onto his chest. “Ok, I’m jealous,” she admitted. “But I’m also _so_ excited for you to get this chance.”

“I’m not good enough for you,” he groaned, finding her hand and running his lips over the knuckles. She snorted at him, rubbing her face into the semicircle of skin revealed by the white tank he always slept in.

“Sure,” Betty joked. “You’re good enough for Washington, but not good enough for me. Yeah right.”

Her forehead fell against him suddenly and she sighed. Without speaking, he knew what she was thinking and stroked her back.

“Three weeks,” he mumbled, crunching forward to kiss her hair.

“Yeah,” she replied ponderously, speaking into his skin.

They laid still for a few minutes. Jughead didn’t know about Betty, but he was trying to decide whether it was too late to just go back to sleep―except for that part of him that was extremely interested in staying awake, seeing as Betty was lying on top of him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, catching the scent of her fruity shampoo in the poorly circulated air of his room.

“I know!” she burst out, sitting up to straddle him. Jughead, startled, reached for the sheet and pulled it back towards him, looping it around his girlfriend’s hips. Betty patted his chest, demanding his attention. “I could go with you!”

He frowned.

“The email said that all accepted applicants will be meeting in Greendale to be bussed together. No mention of plus-ones.”

“I could take the train!” she countered, still highly excited and getting him there too, shifting around in his lap as she was. Jughead grabbed her hips to steady her… and his breathing. “There’s time to plan this. I’ll take the train and we’ll meet up in the city.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind? Sorry,” he added more coolly. “It’s just… that’s a big city, Betts. I’d be worried about you wandering around on your own.”

She rolled her eyes and gripped his chin so he’d see her do it.

“I won’t be _wandering around_ , jeeze, Juggy. Like I said, I’ll plan it all out in advance. I’ll find an Airbnb or something…” He watched her think for a minute, beginning to force himself to acknowledge that he couldn’t change her mind.

“You’ll be busy during the day,” she continued, “but from what I remember of the working itinerary that was in the application package, most of your evenings will be free, plus weekends. We can sightsee together then, and I’ll have plenty to entertain me in the meantime. I’ve always wanted to go to the Smithsonian!”

Shaking his head with a smile, Jughead reached for the back of Betty’s neck, drawing her gently down to him. Before he could drag out the kiss he was giving her the way he wanted to, she popped free again, grabbing his shoulders.

“And the National Gallery of Art!”

He captured and kissed her again. After a few more seconds, she broke away.

“Oooh, and maybe I could schedule a tour of Georgetown. It’s not too early to start researching universities.”

Frustrated, Jughead took her face between his hands.

“If I’d told you not to come with me,” he wondered, “would we be having ‘compensating for our upcoming three weeks apart sex’ right now?”

“If you’d told me not to come with you,” Betty corrected, “we’d be having ‘me making you realize what you’d be missing out on for three weeks sex’ right now.”

“What I’m hearing is that, either way, we’d be having sex right now. So what’s wrong with this picture?”

Betty sighed in clear exasperation. Then, she gave in.


	7. Our Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 76: “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”; prompt 77: “You shouldn’t have even been there!”; prompt 82: “Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while.”; prompt 87: “Hey! I was gonna eat that!”; and prompt 90: “I don’t want to think about what I’d be like without you.” 
> 
> A Hunger Games AU!

He thought she was dead.

Just for a second, when Jughead wove back through the wheat field and found the spot where he’d left Betty sitting to conserve energy and saw her lying on her side with no sign she was inhaling, he feared the worst. Then, the dirt near her face puffed away and he knew she was breathing.

“Betty,” he said urgently, carefully lowering the water he’d just collected in a futuristically-shaped bottle and kneeling next to her. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,” he reminded her, shaking her shoulder roughly with one hand while he unzipped his jumpsuit to his hips.

Slowly, too slowly, she woke up, attempting to squint up at him with the harsh sun in her eyes, until Jughead cupped a hand above her face.

“What happened?” she mumbled, rolling over with difficulty. The burn on her side and back would be nasty if she’d been lying there long.

Jughead wanted to be angry―his District-mate should’ve been smarter than to give the sun a larger target than was necessary―but he knew dehydration was taking its toll. This wasn’t sunshine like out in the real world; the light in the arena had clearly been concentrated, the UV strength heightened too, he would’ve guessed from the way they’d both freckled before each other’s very eyes the first time they’d come aboveground.

“I got you some water. Here.” Moving much faster than she could on her own, Jughead helped Betty sit up and brought the drink to her lips. The water inside was already warm, he could tell from holding the bottle.

“You went underground for this,” she realized as the heat-exhausted fog cleared from her mind and the dirt cleared from her face, escaping rivulets washing her chin clean in stripes. “You shouldn’t have even been there!”

Jughead rolled his eyes. At least she was feeling better. While he still had the energy, he stood and pushed his jumpsuit the rest of the way off and grabbed their shovels, driving each into the ground and using the garment to make a roof over their heads. He collected Betty’s jumpsuit from the dirt and used it to increase the shade. This year’s Gamemaker hadn’t been big on trees.

“It’s fine.”

“Did anything happen?” Betty asked. He understood the look on her face, that gentle steeling of self. She needed to know, but she dreaded the all-too-predictable answer.

“A scuffle. It was quick,” he summarized, also trying to be brief.

“I thought I heard the cannon, as hazy as I was.”

Noticing her eyes tear up before she averted her face, Jughead reached for her chin.

“Don’t waste the water,” he recommended, giving her a weak smile. Betty returned it, blinking back her unshed tears.

“Was it near our tunnel?”

“Two passages over. I don’t think they’ve found it yet.”

It was incredible to him that the rest of the Tributes seemed to have accepted that this Hunger Games was meant to be played underground. From the moment he and Betty had found each other, after their pedestals had dumped them straight down into a Cornucopia carved out of the earth, they’d sought a way out. When they’d run the length of every tunnel and realized the dirt walls, floor, and ceiling conveniently (for the audience) muffled the noise of any possible pursuers, Betty and Jughead had decided to dig their way to (relative) freedom using the pair of shovels they’d grabbed at the Cornucopia. They’d chosen a dead end tunnel, hoping none of their competitors would bother coming all the way to the end when they could see there was no exit from the flat yellow lights that glowed every few feet throughout the entire arena. So far, so good.

Below, there was water, shovels, and three days’ worth of their peers with heads bashed in or throats gouged out with those same shovels. Above, there was food (carrots and other vegetables planted amongst the wheat), scythe-like knives, and a tanning opportunity to die for. Literally.

Between the two of them, Jughead and Betty had started calling this Hunger Games ‘blades and spades’ for the weapons choices. It was cleverer than ‘up and down’ or ‘shine and mine’ and gave the event an aspect of gruesome playfulness that they felt certain would’ve been appreciated in the Capitol.

“Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while,” Betty reasoned, leaning back cautiously against the handle of the shovel driven into the ground behind her.

Jughead nodded, keeping his eyes on her face even as she pushed her shoulders back and chest forward to crack her back, stiffened by the heat. There was nothing (or not much, at least) sexy about her nudity. His either. Game uniform had been black hooded jumpsuits, allowing them to move like shadows in the tunnels, but stand out riskily in a pale field of grain. They’d stripped to nothing from their first visit to the surface and hadn’t been found yet. This wasn’t the moment to change up what was working for the hell of it.

He also figured it kept the cameras off them, wherever those stupid, invasive things had been placed within this completely natural-looking setting. Maybe the Game runners would show the two of them anyway, but Jughead would’ve bet that they were getting far less screen time because of all the blurring out that would’ve been necessary every time he and Betty moved or the runners switched cameras.

“So what do we do?” Jughead wondered aloud, almost feeling like he was on some weird, otherworldly date with the girl across from him. There was only her―of course, that was because there was literally no one else around and row after row of same-coloured flora wasn’t a hell of a lot to look at.

“You can answer a question for me,” Betty suggested, getting a gleam in her eye that had nothing to do with a reflection of the sun.

“…Ok,” he said, hesitant. There really hadn’t been a ton of time to get to know his District partner; they’d both been pretty shell-shocked on the train to the Capitol.

“Did you check me out while I was unconscious?”

“Mhmm.”

“Jughead!” she burst out, though the irritation in her tone was subdued by the dryness of her throat.

“I meant medically! To make sure you had a pulse!” He paused, gaze darting away from her intent green eyes. “Also, I looked at your boobs.”

She sighed.

“I should be angrier, because I’m not a flash-a-guy-on-a-first-date kind of girl, but you _have_ kept me alive, so I’ll call it even.”

Jughead laughed, rubbing the heel of his hand across his forehead. Even with the makeshift shade and the lack of clothes, he was sweating. He stretched his legs straight out beside hers and purposely poked his foot into her outer thigh.

“Can I just say… dating you is exhausting?”

“Hilarious.”

Betty closed her eyes first and he saw the smile edge her lips up. Success. He drained the bottle, knowing the water would just evaporate if he left it, and let his eyelids droop as well. Normally, they alternated their naps, but with what was happening below, Jughead assumed no one would be coming for them that afternoon, or morning, or night. He didn’t know what time it was, with the sun always fucking shining. Clutching her foot like it was a security blanket, he plummeted into unconsciousness.

…And woke up on his back, protruding from the safety of their shade. Now it was Betty’s turn to shake _him_ awake. When he groaned, she quit pinching him, which was the method she’d devised to best rouse him. Thank god her sharp nails had only gotten as high as his knee. A day and a half ago, he’d had quite a wakeup call.

“Get up, Juggy. You knocked the tent over.”

A little ambitious, he thought, calling their stingy covering a tent. He flopped his head to the side, sleepily reaching for the brown-skinned potato lying less than a foot away. It would be so warm and delicious, maybe crispy from the sun… Abruptly, and all on its own, the potato retreated.

“Hey! I was gonna eat that!”

“Jughead.” Betty rose and slumped over him, giving him a hard stare. She waved the potato across his vision. “This is a shovel. It’s the wooden handle of a shovel. Time to wake up. You can fix the tent while I dig up some carrots.”

“Stay for a second,” he pleaded, catching her wrists to keep her above him. Betty relaxed in his hold in a way that was so gutturally opposite to how a person should have responded to being grabbed in this sick Game that Jughead felt his heart swell for her.

“Ok.”

She repaired the sunshield herself, then did him one better and collapsed at his side. It was too hot to put an arm around her, so Jughead settled for nudging his shoulder into hers.

“Naked with Betty Cooper,” he said thoughtfully after a minute had passed. “Not exactly how I pictured it.”

“How was it different in your mind?” she asked softly.

The intonation of offense that had been in her voice earlier was gone. This was the most vulnerable―no, the most _normal_ ―he’d seen and heard Betty yet, longing for the escape only imagination could offer to two sixteen-year-olds reaped for the Hunger Games.

“Fewer root vegetables.”

Maybe Jughead shouldn’t have joked, but her openness scared him. Tenderly, she smiled, allowing it. That didn’t change the mood she was in though, or how she would speak to him while she was in it. Betty Cooper had a strength in transparency that made him marvel.

“I don’t want to think about what I’d be like without you.”

Dead? Did she mean dead? Even with the sun, and the heat, and the sunburn, his sweat almost chilled him as he felt for her hand. Before Jughead knew what was happening, Betty rolled into him and kissed him sweetly. Oh. _Wow_. He couldn’t make her any promises―they were both too sensible to try to deceive themselves about their probable futures―but he could kiss her back and, when luck was on his side, he could even make her smile.


	8. Their Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 15: “Are you still awake…?” and prompt 73: “You don’t have to stay.”

Slowly and very, very carefully, Betty shuffled her shoulder out from under Jughead’s head and sat up, leaning hard forward with her elbows on her knees. Her neat subdivision looked wilder from this position, sitting on the roof long after the sun had gone down. The trees provided a darkness you just didn’t notice during the day, being naturally drawn to the light that filtered between the leaves rather than what was shut out. Betty inhaled deeply, thinking that she could be anywhere with trees and the odd light of civilization, but no matter where she was, she would still have a father in jail for doing terrible things and a mother who hadn’t yet caught her breath.

Nights like this, here, with him, were helping Betty bear it.

“Are you still awake…?” Jughead’s words stretched and blurred into a massive yawn. Betty smiled down at him and put a hand on his cheek.

“I know it’s late. I’m just thinking.”

“What time is it anyway?” He rubbed a fist into each eye alternately as he raised himself up on one elbow.

“Well, the neighbours over there finished watching _Temple of Doom_ a few minutes ago.” Betty pointed and Jughead aligned his face with her finger, spying the bright light of a TV screen one street over.

“Dammit,” he groaned sleepily. “I wanted to see the mine cart chase.”

“Jug, that’s the most boring part of the whole movie,” Betty gently complained, stroking her fingers through his hair.

“No way,” he resisted, leaning into her. “Compared to what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The ride down the mountain on an inflatable raft,” she suggested, “or the chamber with the collapsing roof and the spikes, or the guy getting his heart cut out of his chest, or whatshername trying to find the diamond on the floor full of ice chips while mobsters shoot up the restaurant?”

Jughead glanced up at her.

“The diamond, huh? Capitalist,” he accused as another yawn forced his mouth wide.

“You don’t have to stay,” Betty told him. Her words seemed to hit the air and vanish. It was quiet up on the roof.

Jughead wrapped an arm around her thigh.

“If I wasn’t here,” he started, “I’d be―”

“I know, I know,” Betty cut in with an appreciative smile. “Probably parked across the street on your bike, staring up at my window.”

“No, I was going to say I’d be on the lawn, ‘cause I would’ve fallen asleep and rolled off the roof.”

She laughed and lowered herself back to the shingles.

“We should climb down before that turns into a possibility.”

“I’d catch you,” Jughead avowed, hugging her around the waist.

“Oh yeah? And what if you’re asleep too?”

“I’ll stay awake.”

“Jug…” Betty said softly.

“No. I’ve slept enough. I was sleeping when you needed me before.”

“You were unconscious because you tried to fight an entire gang to keep me safe. You’ve done so much already,” she promised, kissing his cheek.

Jughead didn’t argue, just shifted around against her.

“I guess it’s not _that_ comfortable up here,” he admitted.

“You wanna go back to my room?”

“Will your mom mind?” Jughead asked, though he immediately began to sit up.

“She probably won’t even notice,” Betty mumbled.

Lowering themselves off the edge of the roof and hooking their legs through Betty’s open window was a little tricky, but they managed, Jughead insisting on going ahead of her so he could guide her in after him.

“I wonder if Romeo and Juliet ever had to do that,” he mused, still holding Betty though she had both feet on the floor of her bedroom.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “You never hear about him trying to get into her room from above.” Tiredness hitting her now that the bed was in sight, Betty pressed her face against the warm skin of Jughead’s neck.

“Or them both making the climb.”

“Well,” she pointed out, unzipping Jughead’s Serpent jacket and tunneling her arms inside, “that’s because Romeo would’ve made Juliet go first, to seem like a gentleman―”

“Of course.” Jughead cradled her more tightly, breathing into her hair.

“―and then looked up her skirt while she was climbing.”

“Boy, the things they don’t teach you in school. Shocking,” he whispered into her ear, making Betty giggle and twist at the sensation.

She drew back, hands clasped firmly behind her boyfriend’s neck.

“You’ll stay, won’t you?”

Jughead gave her a smile that was weary of the night, but not of her.

“I’ll always stay.”

“Thank you,” she mouthed, cupping his face between her hands.

Betty laid in bed, arm over Jughead’s chest, and closed her eyes. What used to be true was that if Alice found them here, together, she would be angry because of Betty’s reputation. Now, it was more likely that Alice would only be sad and jealous of their companionship. Before falling asleep, Betty reminded herself that she could only do so much. She would still have her fears in the morning, she would still worry, but with Jughead here, breathing in a long, unconscious rhythm beside her, Betty worried a little less.


	9. I Groan, You Groan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 69: “We finish it the same way we started―together.”

It was all fun and games at the grocery store―heaping the basket with boxes of waffle cones, Oreos, and graham crackers, then bags of marshmallows, chocolate-covered pretzels, and gummy bears―but now, Betty and Jughead were sitting side by side at the trailer’s little kitchen table, dragging their long, garishly-bright sundae spoons languidly through the remains of their ice cream feast, and feeling kind of disgusting.

“What were we thinking?” Betty groaned, watching a green gummy bear sink helplessly beneath the surface of a melting scoop of double chocolate.

Next to her, Jughead folded his arms on the table and let his forehead collapse onto them.

“We were so preoccupied with whether or not we could that we didn’t stop to think if we should.”

Betty snorted, then laid a hand on her stomach, wary of creating any impetus at all for the sugary contents to begin rising back up.

“Thank you for that, Dr. Malcolm,” she sighed, bending forward beside Jughead and letting her head loll sideways onto his arm.

Together, they stared at their dog’s breakfast of a dessert. They’d tossed on so many fixing in their earlier enthusiasm that it was hard to see any ice cream beneath them. What Betty knew to be scoop upon scoop of double chocolate, butter pecan, and even―her personal greatest regret of the entire edible project―cotton candy ice cream was splattered, nay, _bedazzled_ , with glistening gummy bears and a heap of other junk that had lost all of its visual appeal with the turning of the tide in the roiling sea of Betty’s stomach. She groaned again.

“What do we do, Jug? If we leave this out any longer, it’s going to start attracting ants.”

She heard him huff a breath from his mouth and wondered if he was trying not to inhale the scent of their concoction through his nose.

“We finish it the same way we started―together,” he told her, reaching with a limp arm for his spoon. “We brought this monster into being and we can send it right back into oblivion.”

Betty allowed herself a careful laugh, palm over her stomach, as she sat up. There was her abandoned spoon. She sneered at it.

“You make it sound like we’re trying to kill Frankenstein’s monster.”

“Well, look at it,” he implored, giving a clump of marshmallows a poke with his spoon.

“I am.”

They sighed in unison.

“Alright,” Betty said, struggling towards a peppier tone. “Together.”

She dug her spoon into the mess and watched as Jughead did the same. There was a piece of sad, soggy waffle cone hanging off the edge of hers like it wanted to jump and end its misery. The two of them glanced sideways at each other. Jughead gave her a heartening nod. They jammed the spoons into their mouths.

Immediately, Betty squeezed her eyes shut, not sure if it was the astronomical sugar content or the fact that her mouth had warmed just enough that was making her teeth ache when she reintroduced ice cream.

“Nope,” she said thickly, laying down her spoon and grabbing a napkin as the excess ice cream her body was simply refusing to swallow dribbled from the corner of her mouth.

Jughead hurled his spoon into the gooey heap like he was throwing a javelin with Olympic gold on the line.

“Absolutely not,” he concurred, scraping his chair back from the table and grabbing the sundae.

Betty turned, feeling too weak to stand, and watched her boyfriend race for the door of the trailer. Through the window, she saw him bound down the steps and chuck the ice cream―bowl and all―into the trash.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Betty shuffled out the door and plopped onto the top step, scooting sideways when Jughead clomped up to join her.

“Next time…” he began, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

“No next time,” Betty firmly ruled, giving Jughead’s knee a squeeze.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

They sat and watched the long shadows of late afternoon stretch lazily across the trailer park. Betty straightened her legs out in front of her, kicking her heels against a cracked step.

“So,” Jughead murmured, rubbing his lips against her temple, “Pop’s for dinner?”


	10. Window Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 46: “I just need to be alone right now.”
> 
> An angsty interpretation was requested.

“I want to say yes,” Betty told him again, pacing her carpet with her nails digging into her hairline.

“Then say yes,” Jughead urged with a smirk and a nonchalant wave of his hand, like everything was easy. She felt her nostrils widen as she shot him a warning look.

“I’ll admit you made it sound simple,” she allowed, wondering if she was getting rug-burnt toes, “but you had to know I’d need time to seriously consider becoming Serpent Queen. A ‘yes’ given while I’m nestled away with you, high on post-coital endorphins can’t just be taken at face value.”

Jughead’s mouth slowly turned down.

“You didn’t mean it?”

“That’s not what I said!” Betty stopped, bracing her hand against the wall. “I meant it with all my heart, Jug, but now it’s time to get my brain involved.”

“This is ridiculous. You officially joining the Serpents makes practical sense. I need you near me, I need to be able to prote―”

“To protect me?” she finished, turning her head to give him an incredulous look. “No one can protect me, Jughead. Not when our villains live within the same walls we do.”

“Betty, that isn’t true.” Jughead rose from her window seat, where he’d been perched. “This is the time to close ranks.”

He paused and walked towards her. When he reached for her hand, she let him have it, but it was given limply. Betty was tired. Tired and confused.

“I don’t know what to do,” she told him, moving closer to the wall and letting her forehead loll there while her arm was strained by his hold.

“I’ll tell you exactly what to do,” Jughead pressed, cupping her cheek, smoothing her hair.

“I don’t want to be told what to do.” She shook him off, crossing her arms and stepping around him towards the window. “I want to figure this out.”

“Alone?” His voice sounded heavy. Hurt. Betty couldn’t look back at him.

“Alone.”

“But what if we…?”

“I just need to be alone right now,” she repeated quietly, welling tears prompting her to keep her face turned away. “I’ll call you, Jug.”

Betty could feel him standing there, quivering with the desire to fight. He loved to do that for her, step in front and take the bullets she never asked him to take. Make her his queen. But when there was both a king and a queen, who was the one always in charge? Who was the one calling all the shots? History class told Betty it was the king. Their history―hers and Jughead’s―was less clear. What she was certain about was not wanting to go in blind. Even being careful, she’d barely survived her father. No more chances, no more surprises for Betty Cooper. A recantation on taking leaps of faith on the back of a motorbike.

She felt him leave, too. The small pressure in the air when he closed her bedroom door and slunk away down the upstairs hall.

Cheeks wet and eyelashes forming messy new patterns as they clumped thickly together, Betty took the last steps to her window and slammed it shut. It wasn’t the _bang_ that made her sob, it was knowing that, when Jughead strode across her lawn and looked up at the window, he’d see that it was shut to him, as it had never been before.


	11. Southside DIY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 48: “I made a mistake.” and prompt 50: “I need you to forgive me.”

“Go, go, go,” Sweet Pea and Fangs hissed at him alternately, pushing Jughead through the open door of the Jones trailer.

He stumbled over the threshold and Betty looked up from where she was reading on the couch. When Jughead glanced quickly behind him―hoping for some heartening words from his backup―the other young Serpents were gone. He grit his teeth. Typical.

“Hey, Jug!” his girlfriend greeted him with a smile. She half-turned to face him, propping her chin in her hand, elbow on the arm of the couch. “Done already? I thought you said it’d be a couple of hours.”

“Yeah, well,” he stepped hesitantly into the room, “I was able to talk the boys out of some of the fancier plans they had for building Hot Dog’s new doghouse.”

“No!” Betty complained with a huge grin. “Don’t tell me they nixed the turret!”

Jughead nodded in solemn acknowledgement.

“The turret is no more.”

“The skylight?”

“Sweet Pea was convinced it would cook our poor barbecue-food-appellated pooch like an ant under a magnifying glass.”

“Tragic,” she sighed in sympathy. “So what’s protecting everyone’s favourite Serpent from the elements?”

Jughead shifted nervously on the spot, fist tightening inside the pocket of his gang jacket.

“You mean… you mean the roof.”

Betty snorted a laugh.

“Yeaaaah.” She said it in a tone that suggested the word she wanted to say was ‘duuuuh.’

“Shingles,” he replied shortly. Abruptly, Jughead began backing into the kitchen. “Listen, I’m just going to go to my room real quick and―”

“What?” Betty slid the book from her lap. “But you just got home. Get your butt over here and sit with me, Jones.”

Dammit, she was using the surname on him. Always said in a commanding voice and always guaranteed to get him going. Betty Cooper was as sweet as they came, sure, but five times as cunning.

“I…” he couldn’t think of an excuse, but walked back to her slowly enough that Betty got up on her knees and leaned over the couch’s arm to drag him in by the unzipped front of his jacket. She wouldn’t let go until he’d bent down and kissed her. Once she snuck her tongue into his mouth and gripped hard at the back of his neck, Jughead almost forgot he was internally trying to fight it.

“Aren’t you going to touch me?” she breathed against his lips. Her eyes, so close, lowered to his mouth, then sprang back up to his.

“I certainly, uh, want to, Betts…” Jughead mumbled, trying to stall.

Her expression fell flat and she drew her face back to give him a hard stare.

“What did you do?”

Jughead laughed guiltily.

“What do you m―”

“Show me your hands,” she insisted.

With a sigh, Jughead revealed the hand he’d been keeping behind his back since he’d entered the trailer. Betty made a twirling motion with her index finger and he flipped the hand palm-side up. There was a gravelly brown shingle stuck to it.

“What happened?” she asked with a heavy exhale through her nose.

“I made a mistake. Everything was going smoothly,” Jughead said earnestly, searching desperately for justification, “until we paused between building the frame and finishing the roof. Fangs and I were troubleshooting a few minor details and during that time…” He sighed again. “…Sweet Pea absconded with the nail gun and had a cowboy quick draw with an innocent old oak tree. Used up all the nails.”

Betty’s chin dropped incredulously.

“And you decided the answer was sticking the shingles on with some kind of…” she examined his hand, careful not to touch anywhere closer than his elbow, “… industrial strength glue?”

“I was firmly against it,” he proclaimed, wanting to shove his beanie off and run a hand through his hair, but having to stop himself, “but Fangs was kind of on the fence, and then Sweet Pea kept ordering him to stare into Hot Dog’s eyes and seriously tell him that the furry little guy didn’t look positively heartbroken.”

“Positively or _paws_ itively?” Betty asked with a sly returning smile. Jughead smirked.

“I thought it too, but it felt like a bad time to point it out.”

“So,” she summarized, “long story short, being the benevolent leader and friend to all creatures that you are―” Betty’s own brand of puppy dog eyes was flashed up at him. “―you caved.”

Jughead wanted so badly to tell her she was right. To reach out, take her face between his hands, and distract himself from what a poor handyman he’d proven himself to be today. But didn’t have both hands free. In fact, he didn’t even have one hand free. He stole himself to deliver the rest of his confession.

“Unfortunately, the story doesn’t end there.”

Staring at the carpet, Jughead circled around the side of the couch to drop down on both knees in front of her, careful not to bend the fingers of the hand stuffed in his pocket at an unnatural angle. Betty, evidently waiting patiently, didn’t make a sound beyond readjusting her position on the couch.

“These are the jeans I was wearing the other day―”

Her palm cupped his chin and she turned his face up to look into his eyes.

“I’m sure they can be washed. We can google how to lift the glue.”

Jughead was shaking his head before she’d finished.

“No, Betts. These are the jeans from _the other day_ ,” he emphasized, attempting to telepathically force the memory from his mind to hers.

The low lighting. The soft background chatter. The scent of popcorn. Possibly the gobsmacked expression he knew he must’ve have on his face when she came back from the bathroom before the matinee started and casually pushed the panties she’d worn to the theatre into his front pocket.

“Oh no,” Betty gasped, lowering her gaze to the hand he still had in that pocket. “Oh, Juggy.” Her hand covered her mouth.

“I need you to forgive me,” he said, throwing himself on his girlfriend’s mercy as he extracted the hand, lace underwear dangling from his sticky fingers.

Surprising him, she giggled, then dropped her hand to burst into full-blown laughter. She clasped a hand to his shoulder as though holding his immense comic value at a distance so as not to be overwhelmed.

“Ok, it’s not that funny,” Jughead declared, rolling his eyes. Betty nodded in contradiction, wiping away tears. “Hey, you don’t know how I’ve suffered! I forgot those were in there _and_ I didn’t realize I had glue on my fingers. I haven’t been able to take my hand out of my pocket for the last half hour because I was terrified of flashing your intimates to Sweet Pea and Fangs!”

He presented both palms, offering them to her in basest prostration.

“I’ve been helpless,” he reaffirmed. “Take pity on me.”

Betty’s mouth scrunched and twisted to the side as she considered him.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up.”

She climbed off the couch and went behind him, assisting Jughead to his feet while trying to stay out of range of his adhesive hands.

“Did you at least finish Hot Dog’s new digs?”

“Of course,” he assured her as she guided him into the kitchen. “No Serpent dog, um, sleeps in an unfinished doghouse.”

“Oh,” she said sarcastically. “And which law is that?”

“It’s on the list,” Jughead vowed. “You just haven’t reached the level of Serpent-dom where you need to learn it yet.”

Betty shot him a sharp look.

“Watch it, Jones, or I’ll abandon you to your gluey fate.” She stepped in front of him and leaned forward to turn the tap on full blast. His eyes darted down to the admirably curved seat of her jeans.

Shit, he really needed to get this stuff off his hands.


End file.
